A whirling maelstrom of human activity and dynamic energy--the
city which above all others is characteristic of the genius and
virility of the American people--New York, with its congested
polyglot population and teeming millions, is assuredly one of the
busiest, as it is one of the most strenuous and most noisy places
on earth. Yet, despite its swarming streets and crowded shops,
ceaselessly thronged with men and women eagerly hurrying here and
there in the pursuit of business or elusive pleasure, all
chattering, laughing, shouting amid the deafening, multisonous
roar of traffic incidental to Gotham's daily life, there is one
part of the great metropolis where there is no bustle, no noise,
no crowd, where the streets are empty even in daytime, where a
passer-by is a curiosity and a child a phenomenon. This deserted
village in the very heart of the big town is the millionaires'
district, the boundaries of which are marked by Carnegie hill on
the north, Fiftieth Street on the south, and by Fifth and Madison
Avenues respectively on the west and east. There is nothing more
mournful than the outward aspect of these princely residences
which, abandoned and empty for three-quarters of the year, stand
in stately loneliness, as if ashamed of their isolation and utter
uselessness. Their blinds drawn, affording no hint of life within,
enveloped the greater part of the time in the stillness and
silence of the tomb, they appear to be under the spell of some
baneful curse. No merry-voiced children romp in their carefully
railed off gardens, no sounds of conversation or laughter come
from their hermetically closed windows, not a soul goes in or out,
at most, at rare intervals, does one catch a glimpse of a
gorgeously arrayed servant gliding about in ghostly fashion,
supercilious and suspicious, and addressing the chance visitor in
awed whispers as though he were the guardian of a house of
affliction. It is, indeed, like a city of the dead.
So it appeared to Jefferson as he walked up Fifth Avenue, bound
for the Ryder residence, the day following his arrival from
Europe. Although he still lived at his father's house, for at no
time had there been an open rupture, he often slept in his studio,
finding it more convenient for his work, and there he had gone
straight from the ship. He felt, however, that it was his duty to
see his mother as soon as possible; besides he was anxious to
fulfil his promise to Shirley and find what his father could do to
help Judge Rossmore. He had talked about the case with several men
the previous evening at the club and the general impression seemed
to be that, guilty or innocent, the judge would be driven off the
bench. The "interests" had forced the matter as a party issue, and
the Republicans being in control in the Senate the outcome could
hardly be in doubt. He had learned also of the other misfortunes
which had befallen Judge Rossmore and he understood now the reason
for Shirley's grave face on the dock and her little fib about
summering on Long Island. The news had been a shock to him, for,
apart from the fact that the judge was Shirley's father, he
admired him immensely as a man. Of his perfect innocence there
could, of course, be no question: these charges of bribery had
simply been trumped up by his enemies to get him off the bench.
That was very evident. The "interests" feared him and so had
sacrificed him without pity, and as Jefferson walked along Central
Park, past the rows of superb palaces which face its eastern wall,
he wondered in which particular mansion had been hatched this
wicked, iniquitous plot against a wholly blameless American
citizen. Here, he thought, were the citadels of the plutocrats,
America's aristocracy of money, the strongholds of her Coal,
Railroad, Oil, Gas and Ice barons, the castles of her monarchs of
Steel, Copper, and Finance. Each of these million-dollar
residences, he pondered, was filled from cellar to roof with
costly furnishings, masterpieces of painting and sculpture,
priceless art treasures of all kinds purchased in every corner of
the globe with the gold filched from a Trust-ridden people. For
every stone in those marble halls a human being, other than the
owner, had been sold into bondage, for each of these magnificent
edifices, which the plutocrat put up in his pride only to occupy
it two months in the year, ten thousand American men, women and
children had starved and sorrowed.
Europe, thought Jefferson as he strode quickly along, pointed with
envy to America's unparalleled prosperity, spoke with bated breath
of her great fortunes. Rather should they say her gigantic
robberies, her colossal frauds! As a nation we were not proud of
our multi-millionaires. How many of them would bear the searchlight
of investigation? Would his own father? How many millions could
one man make by honest methods? America was enjoying unprecedented
prosperity, not because of her millionaires, but in spite of them.
The United States owed its high rank in the family of nations to
the country's vast natural resources, its inexhaustible vitality,
its great wheat fields, the industrial and mechanical genius of
its people. It was the plain American citizen who had made the
greatness of America, not the millionaires who, forming a class by
themselves of unscrupulous capitalists, had created an arrogant
oligarchy which sought to rule the country by corrupting the
legislature and the judiciary. The plutocrats--these were the
leeches, the sores in the body politic. An organized band of
robbers, they had succeeded in dominating legislation and in
securing control of every branch of the nation's industry,
crushing mercilessly and illegally all competition. They were the
Money Power, and such a menace were they to the welfare of the
people that, it had been estimated, twenty men in America had it
in their power, by reason of the vast wealth which they controlled,
to come together, and within twenty-four hours arrive at an
understanding by which every wheel of trade and commerce would be
stopped from revolving, every avenue of trade blocked and every
electric key struck dumb. Those twenty men could paralyze the
whole country, for they controlled the circulation of the currency
and could create a panic whenever they might choose. It was the
rapaciousness and insatiable greed of these plutocrats that had
forced the toilers to combine for self-protection, resulting in
the organization of the Labor Unions which, in time, became almost
as tyrannical and unreasonable as the bosses. And the breach
between capital on the one hand and labour on the other was
widening daily, masters and servants snarling over wages and
hours, the quarrel ever increasing in bitterness and acrimony
until one day the extreme limit of patience would be reached and
industrial strikes would give place to bloody violence.
Meantime the plutocrats, wholly careless of the significant signs
of the times and the growing irritation and resentment of the
people, continued their illegal practices, scoffing at public
opinion, snapping their fingers at the law, even going so far in
their insolence as to mock and jibe at the President of the United
States. Feeling secure in long immunity and actually protected in
their wrong doing by the courts--the legal machinery by its very
elaborateness defeating the ends of justice--the Trust kings
impudently defied the country and tried to impose their own will
upon the people. History had thus repeated itself. The armed
feudalism of the middle ages had been succeeded in twentieth
century America by the tyranny of capital.
Yet, ruminated the young artist as he neared the Ryder residence,
the American people had but themselves to blame for their present
thralldom. Forty years before Abraham Lincoln had warned the
country when at the close of the war he saw that the race for
wealth was already making men and women money-mad. In 1864 he
wrote these words:
"Yes, we may congratulate ourselves that this cruel war is nearing
its close. It has cost a vast amount of treasure and blood. The
best blood of the flower of American youth has been freely offered
upon our country's altar that the nation might live. It has been
indeed a trying hour for the Republic, but I see in the near
future a crisis approaching that unnerves me and causes me to
tremble for the safety of my country. As a result of the war,
corporations have been enthroned and an era of corruption in high
places will follow and the money power of the country will
endeavor to prolong its reign by working upon the prejudices of
the people until all the wealth is aggregated in a few hands and
the Republic is destroyed."
Truly prophetic these solemn words were to-day. Forgetting the
austere simplicity of their forebears, a love of show and
ostentation had become the ruling passion of the American people.
Money, MONEY, MONEY! was to-day the only standard, the only god!
The whole nation, frenzied with a wild lust for wealth no matter
how acquired, had tacitly acquiesced in all sorts of turpitude,
every description of moral depravity, and so had fallen an easy
victim to the band of capitalistic adventurers who now virtually
ruled the land. With the thieves in power, the courts were
powerless, the demoralization was general and the world was
afforded the edifying spectacle of an entire country given up to
an orgy of graft--treason in the Senate--corruption in the
Legislature, fraudulent elections, leaks in government reports,
trickery in Wall Street, illegal corners in coal, meat, ice and
other prime necessaries of life, the deadly horrors of the Beef
and Drug Trusts, railroad conspiracies, insurance scandals, the
wrecking of savings banks, police dividing spoils with pickpockets
and sharing the wages of prostitutes, magistrates charged with
blackmailing--a foul stench of social rottenness and decay! What,
thought Jefferson, would be the outcome--Socialism or Anarchy?
Still, he mused, one ray of hope pierced the general gloom--the
common sense, the vigour and the intelligence of the true American
man and woman, the love for a "square deal" which was characteristic
of the plain people, the resistless force of enlightened public
opinion. The country was merely passing through a dark phase in
its history, it was the era of the grafters. There would come a
reaction, the rascals would be exposed and driven off, and the
nation would go on upward toward its high destiny. The country
was fortunate, too, in having a strong president, a man of high
principles and undaunted courage who had already shown his
capacity to deal with the critical situation. America was lucky
with her presidents. Picked out by the great political parties as
mere figureheads, sometimes they deceived their sponsors, and
showed themselves men and patriots. Such a president was Theodore
Roosevelt. After beginning vigorous warfare on the Trusts,
attacking fearlessly the most rascally of the band, the chief of
the nation had sounded the slogan of alarm in regard to the
multi-millionaires. The amassing of colossal fortunes, he had
declared, must be stopped--a man might accumulate more than
sufficient for his own needs and for the needs of his children,
but the evil practice of perpetuating great and ever-increasing
fortunes for generations yet unborn was recognized as a peril to
the State. To have had the courage to propose such a sweeping and
radical restrictive measure as this should alone, thought
Jefferson, ensure for Theodore Roosevelt a place among America's
greatest and wisest statesmen. He and Americans of his calibre
would eventually perform the titanic task of cleansing these
Augean stables, the muck and accumulated filth of which was
sapping the health and vitality of the nation.
Jefferson turned abruptly and went up the wide steps of an
imposing white marble edifice, which took up the space of half a
city block. A fine example of French Renaissance architecture,
with spire roofs, round turrets and mullioned windows dominating
the neighbouring houses, this magnificent home of the plutocrat,
with its furnishings and art treasures, had cost John Burkett
Ryder nearly ten millions of dollars. It was one of the show
places of the town, and when the "rubber neck" wagons approached
the Ryder mansion and the guides, through their megaphones,
expatiated in awe-stricken tones on its external and hidden
beauties, there was a general craning of vertebrae among the
"seeing New York"-ers to catch a glimpse of the abode of the
richest man in the world.
Only a few privileged ones were ever permitted to penetrate to the
interior of this ten-million-dollar home. Ryder was not fond of
company, he avoided strangers and lived in continual apprehension
of the subpoena server. Not that he feared the law, only he
usually found it inconvenient to answer questions in court under
oath. The explicit instructions to the servants, therefore, were
to admit no one under any pretext whatever unless the visitor had
been approved by the Hon. Fitzroy Bagley, Mr. Ryder's aristocratic
private secretary, and to facilitate this preliminary inspection
there had been installed between the library upstairs and the
front door one of those ingenious electric writing devices, such
as are used in banks, on which a name is hastily scribbled,
instantly transmitted elsewhere, immediately answered and the
visitor promptly admitted or as quickly shown the door.
Indeed the house, from the street, presented many of the
characteristics of a prison. It had massive doors behind a row of
highly polished steel gates, which would prove as useful in case
of attempted invasion as they were now ornamental, and heavily
barred windows, while on either side of the portico were great
marble columns hung with chains and surmounted with bronze lions
rampant. It was unusual to keep the town house open so late in the
summer, but Mr. Ryder was obliged for business reasons to be in
New York at this time, and Mrs. Ryder, who was one of the few
American wives who do not always get their own way, had
good-naturedly acquiesced in the wishes of her lord.
Jefferson did not have to ring at the paternal portal. The
sentinel within was at his post; no one could approach that door
without being seen and his arrival and appearance signalled
upstairs. But the great man's son headed the list of the
privileged ones, so without ado the smartly dressed flunkey opened
wide the doors and Jefferson was under his father's roof.
"Is my father in?" he demanded of the man.
"No, sir," was the respectful answer. "Mr. Ryder has gone out
driving, but Mr. Bagley is upstairs." Then after a brief pause he
added: "Mrs. Ryder is in, too."
In this household where the personality of the mistress was so
completely overshadowed by the stronger personality of the master
the latter's secretary was a more important personage to the
servants than the unobtrusive wife.
Jefferson went up the grand staircase hung on either side with
fine old portraits and rare tapestries, his feet sinking deep in
the rich velvet carpet. On the first landing was a piece of
sculptured marble of inestimable worth, seen in the soft warm
light that sifted through a great pictorial stained-glass window
overhead, the subject representing Ajax and Ulysses contending for
the armour of Achilles. To the left of this, at the top of another
flight leading to the library, was hung a fine full-length
portrait of John Burkett Ryder. The ceilings here as in the lower
hall were richly gilt and adorned with paintings by famous modern
artists. When he reached this floor Jefferson was about to turn to
the right and proceed direct to his mother's suite when he heard a
voice near the library door. It was Mr. Bagley giving instructions
to the butler.
The Honourable Fitzroy Bagley, a younger son of a British peer,
had left his country for his country's good, and in order to turn
an honest penny, which he had never succeeded in doing at home, he
had entered the service of America's foremost financier, hoping to
gather a few of the crumbs that fell from the rich man's table and
disguising the menial nature of his position under the high-sounding
title of private secretary. His job called for a spy and a toady and
he filled these requirements admirably. Excepting with his employer,
of whom he stood in craven fear, his manner was condescendingly
patronizing to all with whom he came in contact, as if he were
anxious to impress on these American plebeians the signal honour
which a Fitzroy, son of a British peer, did them in deigning to
remain in their "blarsted" country. In Mr. Ryder's absence,
therefore, he ran the house to suit himself, bullying the servants
and not infrequently issuing orders that were contradictory to
those already given by Mrs. Ryder. The latter offered no resistance,
she knew he was useful to her husband and, what to her mind was a
still better reason for letting him have his own way, she had
always had the greatest reverence for the British aristocracy. It
would have seemed to her little short of vulgarity to question the
actions of anyone who spoke with such a delightful English accent.
Moreover, he dressed with irreproachable taste, was an acknowledged
authority on dinner menus and social functions and knew his Burke
backwards--altogether an accomplished and invaluable person.
Jefferson could not bear the sight of him; in fact, it was this
man's continual presence in the house that had driven him to seek
refuge elsewhere. He believed him to be a scoundrel as he
certainly was a cad. Nor was his estimate of the English secretary
far wrong. The man, like his master, was a grafter, and the
particular graft he was after now was either to make a marriage
with a rich American girl or to so compromise her that the same
end would be attained. He was shrewd enough to realize that he had
little chance to get what he wanted in the open matrimonial
market, so he determined to attempt a raid and carry off an
heiress under her father's nose, and the particular proboscis he
had selected was that of his employer's friend, Senator Roberts.
The senator and Miss Roberts were frequently at the Ryder House
and in course of time the aristocratic secretary and the daughter
had become quite intimate. A flighty girl, with no other purpose
in life beyond dress and amusement and having what she termed "a
good time," Kate thought it excellent pastime to flirt with Mr.
Bagley, and when she discovered that he was serious in his
attentions she felt flattered rather than indignant. After all,
she argued, he was of noble birth. If his two brothers died he
would be peer of England, and she had enough money for both. He
might not make a bad husband. But she was careful to keep her own
counsel and not let her father have any suspicion of what was
going on. She knew that his heart was set on her marrying
Jefferson Ryder and she knew better than anyone how impossible
that dream was. She herself liked Jefferson quite enough to marry
him, but if his eyes were turned in another direction--and she
knew all about his attentions to Miss Rossmore--she was not going
to break her heart about it. So she continued to flirt secretly
with the Honourable Fitzroy while she still led the Ryders and her
own father to think that she was interested in Jefferson.
"Jorkins," Mr. Bagley was saying to the butler, "Mr. Ryder will
occupy the library on his return. See that he is not disturbed."
"Yes, sir," replied the butler respectfully. The man turned to go
when the secretary called him back.
"And, Jorkins, you will station another man at the front entrance.
Yesterday it was left unguarded, and a man had the audacity to
address Mr. Ryder as he was getting out of his carriage. Last week
a reporter tried to snapshot him. Mr. Ryder was furious. These
things must not happen again, Jorkins. I shall hold you
responsible."
"Very good, sir." The butler bowed and went downstairs. The
secretary looked up and saw Jefferson. His face reddened and his
manner grew nervous.
"Hello! Back from Europe, Jefferson? How jolly! Your mother will
be delighted. She's in her room upstairs."
Declining to take the hint, and gathering from Bagley's
embarrassed manner that he wanted to get rid of him, Jefferson
lingered purposely. When the butler had disappeared, he said:
"This house is getting more and more like a barracks every day.
You've got men all over the place. One can't move a step without
falling over one."
Mr. Bagley drew himself up stiffly, as he always did when assuming
an air of authority.
"Your father's personality demands the utmost precaution," he
replied. "We cannot leave the life of the richest and most
powerful financier in the world at the mercy of the rabble."
"What rabble?" inquired Jefferson, amused.
"The common rabble--the lower class--the riff-raff," explained Mr.
Bagley.
"Pshaw!" laughed Jefferson. "If our financiers were only half as
respectable as the common rabble, as you call them, they would
need no bars to their houses."
Mr. Bagley sneered and shrugged his shoulders.
"Your father has warned me against your socialistic views." Then,
with a lofty air, he added: "For four years I was third groom of
the bedchamber to the second son of England's queen. I know my
responsibilities."
"But you are not groom of the bedchamber here," retorted
Jefferson.
"Whatever I am," said Mr. Bagley haughtily, "I am answerable to
your father alone."
"By the way, Bagley," asked Jefferson, "when do you expect father
to return? I want to see him."
"I'm afraid it's quite impossible," answered the secretary with
studied insolence. "He has three important people to see before
dinner. There's the National Republican Committee and Sergeant
Ellison of the Secret Service from Washington--all here by
appointment. It's quite impossible."
"I didn't ask you if it were possible. I said I wanted to see him
and I will see him," answered Jefferson quietly but firmly, and in
a tone and manner which did not admit of further opposition. "I'll
go and leave word for him on his desk," he added.
He started to enter the library when the secretary, who was
visibly perturbed, attempted to bar his way.
"There's some one in there," he said in an undertone. "Someone
waiting for your father."
"Is there?" replied Jefferson coolly. "I'll see who it is," with
which he brushed past Mr. Bagley and entered the library.
He had guessed aright. A woman was there. It was Kate Roberts.
"Hello, Kate! how are you?" They called each other by their first
names, having been acquainted for years, and while theirs was an
indifferent kind of friendship they had always been on good terms.
At one time Jefferson had even begun to think he might do what his
father wished and marry the girl, but it was only after he had met
and known Shirley Rossmore that he realized how different one
woman can be from another. Yet Kate had her good qualities. She
was frivolous and silly as are most girls with no brains and
nothing else to do in life but dress and spend money, but she
might yet be happy with some other fellow, and that was why it
made him angry to see this girl with $100,000 in her own right
playing into the hands of an unscrupulous adventurer. He had
evidently disturbed an interesting _tête-à-tête_. He decided to
say nothing, but mentally he resolved to spoil Mr. Bagley's game
and save Kate from her own folly. On hearing his voice Kate turned
and gave a little cry of genuine surprise.
"Why, is it you, Jeff? I thought you were in Europe."
"I returned yesterday," he replied somewhat curtly. He crossed
over to his father's desk where he sat down to scribble a few
words, while Mr. Bagley, who had followed him in scowling, was
making frantic dumb signs to Kate.
"I fear I intrude here," said Jefferson pointedly.
"Oh, dear no, not at all," replied Kate in some confusion. "I was
waiting for my father. How is Paris?" she asked.
"Lovely as ever," he answered.
"Did you have a good time?" she inquired.
"I enjoyed it immensely. I never had a better one."
"You probably were in good company," she said significantly. Then
she added: "I believe Miss Rossmore was in Paris."
"Yes, I think she was there," was his non-committal answer.
To change the conversation, which was becoming decidedly personal,
he picked up a book that was lying on his father's desk and
glanced at the title. It was "The American Octopus."
"Is father still reading this?" he asked. "He was at it when I
left."
"Everybody is reading it," said Kate. "The book has made a big
sensation. Do you know who the hero is?"
"Who?" he asked with an air of the greatest innocence.
"Why, no less a personage than your father--John Burkett Ryder
himself! Everybody says it's he--the press and everybody that's
read it. He says so himself."
"Really?" he exclaimed with well-simulated surprise. "I must read
it."
"It has made a strong impression on Mr. Ryder," chimed in Mr.
Bagley. "I never knew him to be so interested in a book before.
He's trying his best to find out who the author is. It's a jolly
well written book and raps you American millionaires jolly
well--what?"
"Whoever wrote the book," interrupted Kate, "is somebody who knows
Mr. Ryder exceedingly well. There are things in it that an
outsider could not possibly know."
"Phew!" Jefferson whistled softly to himself. He was treading
dangerous ground. To conceal his embarrassment, he rose.
"If you'll excuse me, I'll go and pay my filial respects upstairs.
I'll see you again," He gave Kate a friendly nod, and without even
glancing at Mr. Bagley left the room.
The couple stood in silence for a few moments after he
disappeared. Then Kate went to the door and listened to his
retreating footsteps. When she was sure that he was out of earshot
she turned on Mr. Bagley indignantly.
"You see what you expose me to. Jefferson thinks this was a
rendezvous."
"Well, it was to a certain extent," replied the secretary
unabashed. "Didn't you ask me to see you here?"
"Yes," said Kate, taking a letter from her bosom, "I wanted to ask
you what this means?"
"My dear Miss Roberts--Kate--I"--stammered the secretary.
"How dare you address me in this manner when you know I and Mr.
Ryder are engaged?"
No one knew better than Kate that this was not true, but she said
it partly out of vanity, partly out of a desire to draw out this
Englishman who made such bold love to her.
"Miss Roberts," replied Mr. Bagley loftily, "in that note I
expressed my admiration--my love for you. Your engagement to Mr.
Jefferson Ryder is, to say the least, a most uncertain fact."
There was a tinge of sarcasm in his voice that did not escape
Kate.
"You must not judge from appearances," she answered, trying to
keep up the outward show of indignation which inwardly she did not
feel. "Jeff and I may hide a passion that burns like a volcano.
All lovers are not demonstrative, you know."
The absurdity of this description as applied to her relations with
Jefferson appealed to her as so comical that she burst into
laughter in which the secretary joined.
"Then why did you remain here with me when the Senator went out
with Mr. Ryder, senior?" he demanded.
"To tell you that I cannot listen to your nonsense any longer,"
retorted the girl.
"What?" he cried, incredulously. "You remain here to tell me that
you cannot listen to me when you could easily have avoided
listening to me without telling me so. Kate, your coldness is not
convincing."
"You mean you think I want to listen to you?" she demanded.
"I do," he answered, stepping forward as if to take her in his
arms.
"Mr. Bagley!" she exclaimed, recoiling.
"A week ago," he persisted, "you called me Fitzroy. Once, in an
outburst of confidence, you called me Fitz."
"You hadn't asked me to marry you then," she laughed mockingly.
Then edging away towards the door she waved her hand at him
playfully and said teasingly: "Good-bye, Mr. Bagley, I am going
upstairs to Mrs. Ryder. I will await my father's return in her
room. I think I shall be safer."
He ran forward to intercept her, but she was too quick for him.
The door slammed in his face and she was gone.
Meantime Jefferson had proceeded upstairs, passing through long
and luxuriously carpeted corridors with panelled frescoed walls,
and hung with grand old tapestries and splendid paintings, until
he came to his mother's room. He knocked.
"Come in!" called out the familiar voice.
He entered. Mrs. Ryder was busy at her escritoire looking over a
mass of household accounts.
"Hello, mother!" he cried, running up and hugging her in his
boyish, impulsive way. Jefferson had always been devoted to his
mother, and while he deplored her weakness in permitting herself
to be so completely under the domination of his father, she had
always found him an affectionate and loving son.
"Jefferson!" she exclaimed when he released her. "My dear boy,
when did you arrive?"
"Only yesterday. I slept at the studio last night. You're looking
bully, mother. How's father?"
Mrs. Ryder sighed while she looked her son over proudly. In her
heart she was glad Jefferson had turned out as he had. Her boy
certainly would never be a financier to be attacked in magazines
and books. Answering his question she said:
"Your father is as well as those busybodies in the newspapers will
let him be. He's considerably worried just now over that new book
'The American Octopus.' How dare they make him out such a monster?
He's no worse than other successful business men. He's richer,
that's all, and it makes them jealous. He's out driving now with
Senator Roberts. Kate is somewhere in the house--in the library, I
think."
"Yes, I found her there," replied Jefferson dryly. "She was with
that cad, Bagley. When is father going to find that fellow out?"
"Oh, Jefferson," protested his mother, "how can you talk like that
of Mr. Bagley. He is such a perfect gentleman. His family
connections alone should entitle him to respect. He is certainly
the best secretary your father ever had. I'm sure I don't know
what we should do without him. He knows everything that a
gentleman should."
"And a good deal more, I wager," growled Jefferson. "He wasn't
groom of the backstairs to England's queen for nothing." Then
changing the topic, he said suddenly: "Talking about Kate, mother,
we have got to reach some definite understanding. This talk about
my marrying her must stop. I intend to take the matter up with
father to-day."
"Oh, of course, more trouble!" replied his mother in a resigned
tone. She was so accustomed to having her wishes thwarted that she
was never surprised at anything. "We heard of your goings on in
Paris. That Miss Rossmore was there, was she not?"
"That has got nothing to do with it," replied Jefferson warmly. He
resented Shirley's name being dragged into the discussion. Then
more calmly he went on: "Now, mother, be reasonable, listen. I
purpose to live my own life. I have already shown my father that I
will not be dictated to, and that I can earn my own living. He has
no right to force this marriage on me. There has never been any
misunderstanding on Kate's part. She and I understand each other
thoroughly."
"Well, Jefferson, you may be right from your point of view,"
replied his mother weakly. She invariably ended by agreeing with
the last one who argued with her. "You are of age, of course. Your
parents have only a moral right over you. Only remember this: it
would be foolish of you to do anything now to anger your father.
His interests are your interests. Don't do anything to jeopardize
them. Of course, you can't be forced to marry a girl you don't
care for, but your father will be bitterly disappointed. He had
set his heart on this match. He knows all about your infatuation
for Miss Rossmore and it has made him furious. I suppose you've
heard about her father?"
"Yes, and it's a dastardly outrage," blurted out Jefferson. "It's
a damnable conspiracy against one of the most honourable men that
ever lived, and I mean to ferret out and expose the authors. I
came here to-day to ask father to help me."
"You came to ask your father to help you?" echoed his mother
incredulously.
"Why not?" demanded Jefferson. "Is it true then that he is
selfishness incarnate? Wouldn't he do that much to help a friend?"
"You've come to the wrong house, Jeff. You ought to know that.
Your father is far from being Judge Rossmore's friend. Surely you
have sense enough to realize that there are two reasons why he
would not raise a finger to help him. One is that he has always
been his opponent in public life, the other is that you want to
marry his daughter."
Jefferson sat as if struck dumb. He had not thought of that. Yes,
it was true. His father and the father of the girl he loved were
mortal enemies. How was help to be expected from the head of those
"interests" which the judge had always attacked, and now he came
to think of it, perhaps his own father was really at the bottom of
these abominable charges! He broke into a cold perspiration and
his voice was altered as he said:
"Yes, I see now, mother. You are right." Then he added bitterly:
"That has always been the trouble at home. No matter where I turn,
I am up against a stone wall--the money interests. One never hears
a glimmer of fellow-feeling, never a word of human sympathy, only
cold calculation, heartless reasoning, money, money, money! Oh, I
am sick of it. I don't want any of it. I am going away where I'll
hear no more of it."
His mother laid her hand gently on his shoulder.
"Don't talk that way, Jefferson. Your father is not a bad man at
heart, you know that. His life has been devoted to money making
and he has made a greater fortune than any man living or dead. He
is only what his life has made him. He has a good heart. And he
loves you--his only son. But his business enemies--ah! those he
never forgives."
Jefferson was about to reply when suddenly a dozen electric bells
sounded all over the house.
"What's that?" exclaimed Jefferson, alarmed, and starting towards
the door.
"Oh, that's nothing," smiled his mother. "We have had that put in
since you went away. Your father must have just come in. Those
bells announce the fact. It was done so that if there happened to
be any strangers in the house they could be kept out of the way
until he reached the library safely."
"Oh," laughed Jefferson, "he's afraid some one will kidnap him?
Certainly he would be a rich prize. I wouldn't care for the job
myself, though. They'd be catching a tartar."
His speech was interrupted by a timid knock at the door.
"May I come in to say good-bye?" asked a voice which they
recognized as Kate's. She had successfully escaped from Mr.
Bagley's importunities and was now going home with the Senator.
She smiled amiably at Jefferson and they chatted pleasantly of his
trip abroad. He was sincerely sorry for this girl whom they were
trying to foist on him. Not that he thought she really cared for
him, he was well aware that hers was a nature that made it
impossible to feel very deeply on any subject, but the idea of
this ready-made marriage was so foreign, so revolting to the
American mind! He thought it would be a kindness to warn her
against Bagley.
"Don't be foolish, Kate," he said. "I was not blind just now in
the library. That man is no good."
As is usual when one's motives are suspected, the girl resented
his interference. She knew he hated Mr. Bagley and she thought it
mean of him to try and get even in this way. She stiffened up and
replied coldly:
"I think I am able to look after myself, Jefferson. Thanks, all
the same."
He shrugged his shoulders and made no reply. She said good-bye to
Mrs. Ryder, who was again immersed in her tradespeople bills, and
left the room, escorted by Jefferson, who accompanied her
downstairs and on to the street where Senator Roberts was waiting
for her in the open victoria. The senator greeted with unusual
cordiality the young man whom he still hoped to make his
son-in-law.
"Come and see us, Jefferson," he said. "Come to dinner any
evening. We are always alone and Kate and I will be glad to see
you."
"Jefferson has so little time now, father. His work and--his
friends keep him pretty busy,"
Jefferson had noted both the pause and the sarcasm, but he said
nothing. He smiled and the senator raised his hat. As the carriage
drove off the young man noticed that Kate glanced at one of the
upper windows where Mr. Bagley stood behind a curtain watching.
Jefferson returned to the house. The psychological moment had
arrived. He must go now and confront his father in the library.